Icarus and the Sun
by sacrenoirr
Summary: It didn't matter. Not when the smoke of the outside fill her lungs, fires being built to burn the bodies. The smoke rose black against the setting sky. Clara gripped onto the Doctor's hand tighter, she didn't want to get lost. If she slipped away, he might never find her again. She might never return.


A/N: Just a companion fic to accompany the "A Song of Time and Space" series that I have been working on graphic wise. I apologize in advance for an grammatical mistake. I hope you enjoy. Any comment and feedback would be lovely!

Her cheeks flushed a bright red, and her tongue curled inside her mouth, embarrassed. Clara laughed weakly and nervously, holding the cup in her hand, trying to lift her head high enough to avoid the strong ale odor, but not lifting it too high to arouse more glances their way.

"Tea?" Clara stammered, "Do you...have tea?"

The boy in dirty tattered clothing had kept his eyes glued to her bared legs, exposed by her dress. The other men in the pitched tent stared at her with the same eyes, curious and aroused. Clara shifted closer to the Doctor who was knocking on the wooden bench they were sitting on and sniffing the bowl of fruit displayed on the table.

"Doctor," she whispered, tugging at his purple coat, "When can we leave?"

After being consumed and virtually downloaded into a network, after being locked in a vaulted room with an alien known for war, after jumping through the Doctor's own time stream and narrowly coming back alive, Clara had never felt true fear until now, surrounded by men, staring at her hungrily. Not even having the Doctor a touch away could ease her jumping heart.

The Doctor absorbed in the new universe barely looked at her as he replied, "Oh soon, soon. The TARDIS needs to reboot the central mapping system and rewire herself to get the generators working properly, and pump out some more of the hydraulics before we can even break the clouds."

None of that sounded comforting.

None of it sounded like _soon._

"Yes, Doctor, but how long exactly will that take?" Clara asked again, nervously. Her wide brown eyes flickered over to the men who occasionally glanced their way and whispered to each other in deep, grumbling voices.

He flashed a smile, the smile of a five year old boy showing off, "As soon as you can say, jammie dodger."

"Jammie dodger."

His smile fell and tapped her head once lightly with the flat of his hand. "That's not what I meant. Isn't that an Earth saying?" He asked, slightly exasperated.

"Yes, but I'm not comforted by Earth sayings if we're not on Earth."

It was his fault to begin with or that flying machine of his that made them land here. Just the thought made the blisters along her finger pads throb and ache.

Her fingers tapped along the console board, large eyes narrowed at the center, watching the pipes rise and fall to the sound of the TARDIS speeding through space, that was like jam, but fortunately not so either. Clara remembered the Doctor scrounging around in one of the rooms below, searching for the orange suit that had hurt her eyes.

"Do we have to go to this planet? I'm not sure I'd want to go if we stick out like sore thumbs with those orange suits," Clara asked, hopeful with a tinge of worry as to why he would be taking them to a planet without a proper atmosphere for them. There had to be several hundred other planets they could see as an alternative.

The Doctor's head poked out from behind the steel walls. His quiff, a bit tousled. fell out of its secured slick. Perhaps, she should have seen that as the first warning sign. "We won't stick out. In fact, we'll be blending in! Tralaxanthropacis have this wonderful festival every 200 years. Lots of intergalactic species mingling."

Clara's lips pursed at the thought of another festival. "No gigantic sun god this time?"

"None," he answered, flashing the biggest of smiles before he ducked back into the room.

She returned the smile before he left, though it wavered when he left. Clara let her fingers smooth over the silver band that ran along her fourth finger on her left hand, her mother's ring. Her heart quickened its beat in her chest at the thought of slipping it off again and handing it over, unsure of its fate of ever returning to her.

But she trusted the Doctor. He knew what was best, he was after all over 2000 years old, such an old soul, such tired eyes in a lively body. Her eyes flickered to the screen that allowed them to see the view outside. Stars, specs of planets, rushed by them. It was mesmerizing, but dizzying if she stared for too long.

Clara's fingers caressed the knobs, the levers. Thousands of years, thousands of minds created these intricate details. What happened to them? Why was such a man like the Doctor so alone? She never asked him, though curiosity had often warmed itself in her bed, settled in her dreams. It taunted her when he brushed off a detail or two, even when they survived the return from his time steam at Trenzalore, and the memories faded from her mind like a gentle kiss, she didn't know him. Her bones ached and creaked like they did, like she knew all his faces. She should know him, but she didn't.

So, Clara decided to slice the thoughts in her mind. She'd go mad if she didn't. "Doctor," she started, running down the control room steps to find him and ask him. "Doctor, I need to ask you something." Her voice bounced against the walls, her boots a soft pad against the steel floor. She turned the corridor, and saw the closet, the clothes hanging on racks and the spiraling staircase that went up infinitely. He stood at the bottom where the mirror was, holding up the ghastly orange suit still. He turned this way and that, a girl admiring a dress and deciding if she should wear it.

"Does it really make your eyes hurt?" he asked, his lips pursing as he noticed her in the corner of the reflection.

"Makes it bleed," she admitted, leaning against the frame of the doorway.

The Doctor puffed his cheeks, giving one last look at the orange suit, the one dusted of memories, of Mars, of his adventures in the past. Defeated, he decided to hang it up again. "I suppose we can drop off at Ilansika planet in the fifth octsector. They have a lovely shop, selling some spacesuits."

She brightened, knowing she wouldn't have to wear the obnoxious orange thing. The Doctor took long strides back into the control room, Clara trailing behind. "Have to redirect us though since we're a good light years past it."

"Doctor," Clara began, prepared to ask.

"I wonder if we can avoid the Nova storm, though. They're usually quite active this time of year," he mumbled, toggling with the buttons and typing away on the keyboard.

"Doc-"

"Maybe if we enter through-no, that wouldn't work we'd face-how about we go."

"Doctor!" Clara tried to stop the madman's chatter. Her hand reached out to grab his arm, but he moved swiftly to the other side, twisting more knobs, too focused to hear. Her hand fell onto the controls, but she was determined. "Listen, I have something to ask you," she followed, but her bracelet snagged on one of the levers, and her step forward caused it to pull down. The TARDIS jolted, it shook violently, more so than other times.

The Doctor ran, stumbling a few times, back round to her. "What happened?" He asked, his arms thrashing.

"I don't-I don't know. My bracelet got stuck and this lever pulled down and-" She pulled the lever up and down, just as he would, she knew. But, nothing changed. The time machine continued to scream as it streaked through space. Clara felt her body lift the faster they moved.

"Hold on!" The Doctor screamed. He was fast away pulling up other levers, punching more colorful buttons along the silver plates. Each punch, push, pull seemed to take more energy, as he groaned trying to pull some controls back to their positions.

Clara gripped onto the metal railings, her teeth clenching, feeling the room that was bigger on the inside spin a bit too fast for her liking. The air in her lungs was slipping out, the longer they stayed, spinning out of control.

Finally, the Doctor managed to pull one of the levers up, though it burst into sparks. The machine crashed, roughly, throwing Clara and the Doctor up against the bars the kept them from falling down into the lower floors.

Smoke escaped between the crevices of the floors. The lights darkened and faint red lights glowed inside, illuminating the ceiling of the room. Clara coughed, she felt the familiar long fingers reach out and cup the top of her head, his face a breath away from hers.

"Are you ok?"

"Fine," she choked out, the fumes and the throw against the metal rails leaving her breathless.

The Doctor kissed the top of her head reassuringly before he ran back to the control panels. She heard buttons being pressed, heard the whir of the ventilation system turn on again. But, no lights, nothing.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He didn't reply. Clara counted the seconds, waited for his quick response of recognition of the planet. She was waiting for him to say they were in the Polaris system on planet Tatimanis. She waited, but never got a response. Turning slowly, feeling her body ache as she moved, her eyes fell on the Doctor's lean silhouette, peering into the screen that displayed what was outside. She could hear it faintly though, through the wooden doors. She heard shouting, men shouting outside. The doors banged and rumbled. Metal clashing against metal. Screams. So many screams.

Clara got up carefully, her hand pressing against her ribs, feeling the sore spot she knew would become a purple bruise on her skin soon enough. She reached the Doctor's side, noticed the lines that dipped along his forehead at the sight of the scene. Her brown eyes followed, growing wider. Blood against the dark and wet grass, no longer green. It was black from blood, trampled and trodden on until it laid flat on the ground like the piles of body.

It was not long before the scene was over, when all she saw was a white streaming banner with green furrowing tails, a the sigil of a wolf's head. That must have been the side that won, because all she saw was that same flag, dancing across the field, waving in the winds of their victory.

Clara turned her head to look at the white wooden doors that kept them safe inside here. She pictured the bodies of men that laid right outside.

"Come on, Clara," the Doctor called out with a weak smile, the first one that seemed forced on the time lord's face. "Let's see where we've landed this time."

He was heading out the door, though he lingered a bit when his hand reached the locks. The Doctor slipped his hand inside his pocket, the one in his purple coat. The sonic screwdriver nestled easily between his fingers, his own sword pulled out prepared for the violence outside.

Standing closely behind, her hand slipping into his, they stepped out onto the battlefield. Her heart raced inside her ribcage. Steadily, her mind grew empty of the thoughts she had. What did she want to ask the Doctor again?

It didn't matter. Not when the smoke of the outside fill her lungs, fires being built to burn the bodies. The smoke rose black against the setting sky. Clara gripped onto the Doctor's hand tighter, she didn't want to get lost. If she slipped away, he might never find her again. She might never return.

They walked carefully along the grounds. The Doctor watched with familiar eyes, his footsteps followed a familiar path once before.

A soldier in the distance shouted at them, "Halt! Who are you?"

They froze in their tracks and turned at the man wearing layers of leather and chainmail and steel armour, dirtied with soil and blood. Others around him heard his shout and their eyes fixed themselves on the two strangers.

The Doctor smiled, held his hands up, though with Clara's grip, raised her arm up too. _Don't let go_, she thought. _Don't let me go_.

"Friends, we're friends!" The man exclaimed, the hand holding the sonic screwdriver expertly patted his pockets for something. Something was wrong, she noticed. "Clara," he whispered, "You don't happen to have my psychic ID paper, would you?"

"No, why would I have it?" she asked sharply in a whispered voice, her eyes concentrated on the men drawing out their swords and advancing towards them.

The Doctor laughed nervously. "For luck, maybe?"

"Who are you?" the man asked again, significantly closer, holding the tip of the blade at the Doctor's chest.

"Perfectly good explanation. I'm the Doctor and this is Clara, we're travellers."

The man glanced at the Doctor and then glanced at Clara, eyes lingering too long on her bare legs. "The main road is days away. You came from the direction of the Lannister camp." His eyes narrowed as he lifted his blade higher, now touching the Doctor's pale throat. "You must be a Lannister men, foolish enough to linger on the field when the battle has been won and dragging along your whore-"

"What?!" Clara shrieked.

But, he continued as if he didn't hear her. "Any last requests Doctor before I slice you clean open for the crows to feast on?"

"Yes, just one. Take me to your leader." The Doctor glanced down at Clara with a wide and boyish smile. "I've always wanted to say that. Now I've said it twice!"

Clara tilted her head back, eyes closed. Prepared to die, letting the last thing she hear be the soldier's laugh.

"You want to meet the King in the North? Why would he need to see filth like you? Better for me to open up your belly now instead of waste the trek. And I pray you and the likes of you will never see the graces of the gods."

The thought clicked in her mind, like the gears and bolts of clocks. Clara's eyes opened wide and she jumped in. "You can't, kill him. He's a god. He's...the god of time."

He laughed, and the men of around him joined him. She watched the metal brush up and down the Doctor's neck. "A god of time. There is no such thing. The whore speaks of madness."

Clara felt her anger boil, felt her hand ready to release the Doctor's to give him a square punch in the jaw for good measure. "Oh? Then what is that then?" She pointed back to the TARDIS, blue and solid against the destructive field.

They stopped laughing. They took in the sight, the paint, the wood, the strange metal frame and light. It made them shut up and Clara's lips pulled into a satisfied and smug grin when he heard one of the men whisper, "Take them to Lord Stark. Gods be good, this might be our victory."

The man holding the sword sheathed it back. Clara's hand felt lighter while holding the Doctor's, she didn't realize he had been gripping it so tightly in return. "You will see our King, but I will stick this through you and _you_," he barked as he glared at Clara, eyes up this time, "if you dare bestow harm upon him, though the wolf will rip you to shreds before you even get the chance."

The Doctor nodded, his face growing hard and masked, layered with 2000 years.

Clara looked back to the TARDIS, watched it grow smaller as they walked. She heard a bell go off, loud and ominous, her eyes flickered to the Doctor. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Clara gave one last long look before she ducked her head and walked towards the cluster of brown and green tents. "Nothing," she replied.

A funeral bell.

A song of goodbye.


End file.
